Winter Blues @ Ground Zero

today as i made my way through the crowd in the world trade center path station, i noticed a woman in front of me wearing a woolen skirt with the kind of plaid, Burburry's kind of pattern that you see everywhere, white tights and brand new, bright red lace-up shoes. i knew they were new because there was a patch of blood smeared above her left heel, and she was hobbling along as if in pain. man. did that ever bring me DOWN. there she was, a short, middle-aged, middle-class working woman trying her best to look nice, having picked up the skirt at a sale at The Crap or Bananna Republic, where she weeded through the micro-sized, youth obsessed fashion, trying to find something suitable for work that was maybe even a little flatterring, and she was wearing it today with the new tights and the new shoes because there was going to be one of those horrible, evening-before-a-holiday office parties and she was tired of sitting off to the side like she was an invisible wet noodle. no sir--not her, no more... her horoscope was good, she was using a new shampoo and that mysterious red zig-zag in her eye had all but cleared up...

she was going to get as close as she could to beautiful.

and there she was--her mouth stretched tight with pain while she contemplated the steep steps leading up to the street, where the sound of traffic mingled with salvation army bells and the sing-song calls of the guys giving away the freebie morning papers printed with an ink so cheap it got all over your hands in a matter of seconds.


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